Leaving
by AshenWhisper
Summary: Sherlock makes plans the day John and Mrs. Hudson visit the grave, and Molly tries to convince him not to leave. Sherlock wonders whether or not he considers Molly a friend. One shot, no pairings, borderline angsty. Not my best work, but R & R :


Sherlock strode back into the room. Molly brought herself to standing. "Sherlock?" She asked. It had been a few days since his 'death' and when Molly arranged to meet at 3 at Bart's, she wasn't sure how to react when it was much later than 3 and he was finally here. "Where were you?"

The man paused for a moment, looking her over, then lowered himself into the office chair she had across the room. "Cemetery."

Molly took in a breath. "Was John..." Sherlock nodded, and Molly felt a pang of pity in her heart. "And Mrs. Hudson?"

"Both of them," Sherlock said. His normally penetrating eyes were darting about the room. Molly wondered if he was nervous.

"I already signed out this room for a few hours of private work. No one will be in here until that time is up." She pulled the zipper up on the body she'd gotten busy working on while Sherlock was gone. Pulling one glove off, she looked over at the man who had leaned back in the chair, pressing his fingertips together. "What were they doing?"

"Paying respects," Sherlock breathed. He mumbled something that sounded like 'obviously' under his breath.

"Oh," Molly struggled with one of her gloves. "I just meant... What specifically..."

Sherlock cocked his head up at her, catching her gaze for a moment. "What makes you want to know?"

"I just," The glove snapped off of her hand. "I want to know that they're doing well."

"They're fine," Sherlock said, looking back at the wall.

There was a long pause as Molly put her glove back onto the table with the other. It was odd, standing and talking with Sherlock, just talking. Normally John was there, and it was just her helping them with a case and dealing with Sherlock's biting comments. And knowing the difference between the things he meant and the things he just said. She knew there was a difference, but sometimes she couldn't seem to make it out. Was he complimenting her, or using her? She never seemed to be sure. But just being there for Sherlock was enough for her right now, even if it meant having to try and hold a conversation with him.

"Where are you going for the night?" Molly asked. The last few nights he'd stayed at various places, unwilling to tell her where. Then this morning he'd texted her suddenly saying he needed to see her. She'd been secretly happy, hearing that again. She wanted to know if he was okay. It wasn't like the feeling she felt in her heart when he looked at her in the right way, or stood too close, or accidentally bumped her. It wasn't the crush she'd had on him for eons. It was _caring. _She wanted to be there for Sherlock, she wanted to protect him. And that was more important than any other feeling she had for him right now.

"That's what I needed to talk to you about." He stood up.

"You know, if you need, you can spend the night with me. No, wait," Molly panicked, trying to cover up. "I mean, my apartment, I have sleeping bags, I didn't mean... that you would..."

The corner of the consulting detective's mouth twitched for a moment in what may have been a smile. "I understand. No, that's not it." He took a few steps over to her. "I'm going away for a while, Molly."

Molly's heart sunk. "What? Why?"

"It's dangerous for me, staying here." Sherlock declared. "Burning out the spider hasn't destroyed the web." A far off look took over his eyes.

"I don't understand." Sherlock considered Molly without speaking, so she continued. "Where will you go? Mycroft's?"

"Mycroft hasn't been informed of my status yet," Sherlock informed her.

"Oh, well you have to tell him," Molly said. Sherlock looked down. "Don't you?"

"Maybe."

"What about John, he could help you."

Sherlock swallowed. "John can't know I'm alive. It isn't safe." Something sounded different in his voice. Almost _hurt._

"I understand," Molly lowered her eyes. "But do you have to go away? There must be somewhere you can stay, with me, or... or..." She trailed off.

"It isn't any safer for you than it is for John. Things would be better if you didn't even know."

"No!" Molly's heart felt hit with grief. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I mean... I would hate it, to think you were dead."

For a moment, Sherlock held Molly's gaze, his icy blue eyes attempting to understand the girl's sentiment. Then they relaxed. "Your help is very valuable to me."

Sherlock took a step by her. "Sherlock," Molly stopped him. He turned to face her. "Let me help you. I can hide you."

"You've already done enough for me, Ms. Hooper."

"How long?" She said suddenly. Molly wasn't one to admit it, but she wasn't the most socially included person in the world. Besides her cat Toby, Sherlock and Lestrade were two of the people Molly saw the most. Lestrade had plenty to deal with after Sherlock's 'death' and dealing with covering up having hired a person who the public now considered a fraud, and barely stopped by anymore. John of course had nothing to stop by for, and the one time Molly called to check on him, he hadn't picked up his phone. And now to have Sherlock leave...

"Anywhere from a few weeks to a few years." Sherlock barely noticed the look of hurt on Molly's features. "Until the media attention dies down."

"But... you can't just go..."

"That's why I stopped by, to tell you." He said. "I really ought to be leaving, there's a train in-"

"Sherlock," Molly said sharply, grabbing his wrist before he had a chance to walk out on her. He turned her head towards her. "Please don't leave," She said. A few tears glistened on the edge of her eyes.

"I have to. It's not safe."

"Let me help you."

"You've already helped me enough," He shifted his legs to be closer to her. "I need to be on my own now."

"No, I can help you. I can protect you," Molly said. "Don't leave me alone to wonder after you. Don't leave with Lestrade and John falling apart." She took a long pause, looking up at Sherlock. "Don't leave me alone."

Sherlock paused. It hadn't occurred to him the fact that Molly seemed to perk up when she had him around. He wondered to himself how many friends the girl had. There was John, who she wasn't in contact with... And Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, who probably weren't contacting her either... And the other doctors here seemed to steer clear of the mortuary, meaning she probably works alone much of the time... A breath escaped Sherlock's lungs as he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before. Molly wasn't just scared that she'd lose Sherlock. She was scared that she'd lose _everyone. _"I'll text you," He promised, though he wasn't sure what he'd text her. "I'll let you know I'm safe."

"But..." Molly didn't seem satisfied, and a tear fell from her eye.

"Molly, surely you'll have someone to talk with? You must have friends outside of work." Sherlock could tell from how she hung her head that he'd struck a nerve of some sort. He'd always seen Molly as dull and uninteresting, it had never occurred to him that others might view her in the same way... leaving her alone.

_She's been taking care of me... Does that mean I should take care of her now? _He wondered, frowning with the thought. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for a grown woman. "Look, let me go, and I promise you by the end of the day I'll text you if I decide to spend the night at your apartment."

Molly looked up at him. He knew he'd already made the choice to go away, he'd already made more plans than he would tell her. But maybe giving her a bit of hope would make things easier on her and, in turn, for him. "It's just... I don't want to lose you. I want to protect you. I'm your friend, aren't I?"

Sherlock looked into her eyes for a while then, considering the question. John was his friend, he knew that, he'd already confirmed that. But Molly? Sherlock hadn't thought of it before. Did friends use each other? Did they make comments that the rest of the world would consider rude to each other? Did they leave each other?

He wasn't sure. But there was one thing that occurred to him; Molly made him realize he'd made a mistake on Christmas Eve. Not only that, but she'd made him apologize. This woman had the power to make Sherlock Holmes apologize, and maybe even feel a bit of the all too human emotion guilt. She'd also made him admit to needing her. He needed her prowess, her kindness, her secretiveness and her compassion. He needed Molly Hooper. And she made him tell her she counted. Her sentiment had given him the desire to oppose her writing herself off. As much as he hated to admit to himself, she'd made him feel for her.

Molly Hooper had forced Sherlock Holmes to _care._

He wasn't sure he'd been what the world would consider a friend to her. He'd been manipulative to her, mean to her, rude to her, and used her. But she'd made him try to be better. He wasn't sure if he'd been a friend to her, but her words about being alone showed him that maybe he meant more to her than just being a 'crush.' Maybe she cared for him as a friend as well. He wasn't sure. But what he did know was that Molly had looked past all of his mistakes and been there when he needed someone most. Regardless of what he'd done, Molly had been a friend to him.

"Look..." Molly whispered, her voice hoarse. "You don't have to-"

"Yes," He admitted. Molly looked up at him, and he tried to force a smile onto his face for her sake, then stopped. Molly didn't need fake emotion. So he fixed her with the serious and honest look he'd used to tell her that she counted to him. "You are my friend."

Molly tried to give him a smile, but gave up. "Thank you, for saying that," She breathed. "But please... don't go..."

Sherlock felt his heart move with something close to emotion in his chest. Normally watching a girl crying meant nothing to him, but there was something about watching Molly cry. Watching his _friend_ cry, that made it different. _Caring really is a weakness, _he thought as he felt the emotion. He wasn't sure whether it was Molly, or how many times he'd already replayed his conversation with John in his head, but something was causing him a sort of pain inside his heart. And he wanted it to stop. He let out a slow breath and did what he'd seen so many people trying to stop hurting do. He reached out and wrapped an arm around Molly.

She shook lightly in his arms. "I'm sorry..." She breathed.

"You aren't the one who needs to be sorry," He said. "You're a friend to me... But I..." He wasn't sure how to continue. He was Sherlock Holmes, he wasn't supposed to be worried about friends. But some how, he was. "Am I... your friend?"

"Of course," She said, without hesitation. "I mean... If that's okay, I don't mean that-"

"It's okay," He said. He wasn't sure why, but something brought him to holding her tightly for a moment. Then he slowly let go.

"I'm going to the train station." He stated. "If I decide to stay the night with you, I'll text you. Alright?"

Molly cleaned off her eyes and looked up at him. "Promise?" She asked.

He wasn't sure of the point, but he agreed. "Promise."

"Alright," She said, getting herself together. "But you better be careful, they say the station is filled with pick pockets."

Sherlock felt a smile creep across his face. "I'll be careful."

Molly didn't say another word, so Sherlock grabbed his coat and left.

Molly took a few breaths, then stepped over the the chair. Sherlock was gone. He'd left everyone, and now he was leaving her too, at least for the day. She reached for her phone, searching through the contacts. All of them were friends who didn't want to talk because of Sherlock's 'death', family members that barely made contact anymore and old friends that never seemed to contact her at all. She really was alone. She felt a dryness in the back of her throat, and tried to swallow and keep another tear from coming. She was a grown woman, and loneliness was something she should be able to deal with. But the fact that she had no one to talk to and was surrounded by cold dead bodies was more saddening than she'd admit. Another tear was threatening to roll down her cheek when her phone suddenly shook on her hand. She opened up the text message.

_Turns out I have a few hours until my train leaves. Care to join me for dinner? -SH_

Molly was out the door before she finished reading the text.


End file.
